My body is a child-friendly zone—for children of all species.
I just got back from my daily dog visits, which included a half-hour love-fest with a pug pup named Jack.* Jack is about 13 weeks old, and one of the liveliest creatures I have ever met. He also seems to adore my lap. All I have to do is sit down on the ground near him, and in seconds he is clambering all over me. I apparently make an ideal puppy obstacle course. It's a good thing I dress very casually for the dog visits, because I look like a mess when he's through.
Glancing down at my t-shirt just now, I noticed that I am still covered with short, blond dog hairs. (As well as some blotches that are probably dried pee stains. I take him outside to pee when I first get there, and when I pick him up afterwards to carry him back inside, he uses my t-shirt as a blotter.)
I think I have a very high tolerance young things wiggling all over me. (If a slightly lower tolerance for stains.) I first decided this when my niece and nephew were small. My arms were tailor-made for corralling exuberant gestures, and my lap gives every indication of being the perfect combination of soft and bouncy. With a child (or a puppy) on my lap, I feel at one with the world.
Must be a hormonal thing.
*not his real name